Think of me
by Alian
Summary: Set after "Goodbye and Good Luck". Sara has left. How is Grissom reacting ? GSR.


A/N : This is my first fic. I hope you like it. Many thank to Eggy for her awesome beta work.

**Think of me**

It has now been several hours since she left and I find myself alone in this house filled with her car keys still on the kitchen counter, the cup of coffee she left in the sink, the book she had begun still open on the coffee table. The worst thing about it are all these photos arranged almost everywhere in the house, last witnesses of our moments of happiness, and painful reminders of what I do not have anymore. How bad I'm going to miss her! How bad I'm already missing her!

I have already nearly lost her twice. One says: "all things come in threes." The old adage came true.

The first time, a rapist, driven crazy by the excessive love of his mother, had trapped her inside the nurses' office of the hospital in which he was held. It is funny how the distance can be relative. A locked door and a mere window were the only things that separated her from me. And nevertheless, a couple of seconds more and Adam would have slashed her throat. It was about time for the door to be open. But what had nearly taken us apart forever finally got us closer.

The second time, a poor girl, driven nuts by the lack of love of her father, had trapped her under a car, leaving the bad weather do the nasty job. That time, she was within a heartbeat of dying of exposure. In the helicopter, she already seemed so far from me. Finally, her strong will to live allowed one of her penetrating stares to fill the distance between us.

One would be tempted to say that only Real Love benefits from such luck! As for the Real Love, I have no doubt. On the other hand, concerning the 'luck' aspect of things, I cannot be as positive as before.

This time, the ghosts of her past took away her from herself, and from me at the same time.

What is most hard to admit is I could do nothing to help her. You see the person you love most sink little by little, you hold out your hand to save her from drowning, but they do not grasp it. It is not because your hand is out of reach, or the grip too weak, it is that they do not want to take it.

Regrettably, she was already deep in her sadness when I became aware of it, and I know that I will feel bad about it my whole life.

Today, I have nothing but fragments of her, inarticulate memories which reappear at random, depending on the wanderings of my mind.

I remember when she said to me that she found we did not enough spend time together anymore since her moving to Swing. We were casually settled on the sofa, me, absorbed in the latest edition of the Forensic Journal, her, lost in her thoughts, her head settled on my knees, my fingers stroking the velvet of her hair …

"Gil?"

"Mmh?"

"It's quite rare that we're both off, isn't it?"

"Mmhmm."

"We could take each some days off, and go away, I don't know, to San Francisco?"

"Mmhmm."

"Or, we could give each our resignation and tell Ecklie to fuck off by way of goodbye?"

"Mmh, yes."

"Or, we could rather set a 'sex' evening and call Greg for a threesome?"

"Mmhmm, what? Oh, sorry, Sara. What did you say?"

"Nothing, I love you."

Then, she had gotten up then gone to the kitchen where she filled Hank's water bowl.

I remember the day she had come home after her brief (even though it wasn't brief enough for her taste) stay at the hospital after, well, after the desert.

"I'm fine, Gil, promise, I can get a glass of water myself, thank you anyway."

"You have to rest, Honey, you've not fully recovered yet…"

While I had only begun one of my long speeches on the fact that she had to rest, that she was still too weak to move from the couch to the kitchen, she interrupted me with an exasperated look and a long sigh. If looks could kill, I would have fallen stiff at this moment. (No, actually, it would have happened much earlier).

"Gil, I am fine. Besides, I need to do something."

"No, you are not fine! You were kidnapped then trapped under a car merely three days ago by a psychotic serial killer, you roamed several hours in the desert under a smothering heat before being found unconscious, severely dehydrated with a broken arm. So no, you are not fine. Let me take care of you for once!"

I expected to have to fight on this front. Sara Sidle never declares herself defeated before giving battle! Instead, she took the steps that separated her from me, wearing her most determined look and placed a light, soft yet passionate kiss on my lips, once again leaving me absolutely speechless.

This stubborn look of hers, how often I have seen it on her face! It broke my heart sometimes, as during the Kaye Shelton case. But it also made my heart beat a little faster.

Like that day in May at the University of San Francisco where I gave a lecture about anthropology applied to criminology. She had spent the biggest part of the lecture furiously taking notes of all I had been saying with her light frown I have learned to adore. Once my speech finished, the remaining time had been dedicated to questions. She had asked me a thousand relevant ones. But it had seemed to me that she had been holding back maybe out of fear of bothering me.

Indeed, I was not mistaken. It had been one of the few times I had read Sara correctly.

At the end, when everybody had left the hall, which hadn't taken long, and as I had begun to collect my papers, she had bravely planted herself in front of me.

"Doctor Grissom? I'm Sara Sidle. I am a CSI II at the San Francisco Crime Lab. If you have a few minutes, I have one or two more questions to ask you."

One or two? It was more like two dozens!

"I'm listening."

"You just said that we could extract DNA from any fragment of bone. Isn't there any limit of time? Doesn't that depend on the state of decomposition of the body? What about teeth?"

"Whoa, slow down, one at time!"

And this had lasted for several hours. While we were talking, she wore this particular gaze that made her look at the same time very self confident and terribly fragile, as though she tried to hide, even badly, a deep wound. I had the irrepressible urge to hold her tight in my arms. It was maybe the reason why I accepted her invitation for dinner.

I never regretted that first dinner with the woman who was going to become the love of my life. Even after all this time spent apart, her, working in San Francisco and me, in Vegas. Even after all I made us go through, she didn't think twice to come over and help me sort out the mess left after Holly Gribbs' death.

When it comes to Sara, I regret many things, but my regrets relate more to what I did not do with her than what we did together. Despite my sadness, I am happy to have taken what it gave me during the time that it lasted.

This morning, while I was gathering my things, Catherine trapped me again in front of my locker:

"Gil, how are you?" she asked me with her tone of concerned mother who irritates me so much.

"Very well, thank you," I answered her with a voice that I believed confident but sounded as a lie in my own ears the very moment the words left my mouth. It caused her to worry even more (as if it were possible!).

"Is there anything to soften your sorrow?"

Catherine was never very gifted to catch on when I do not wish to continue a conversation. I suspect she perceives my allusions, but she does exactly as she pleases.

"I don't know Cath, really... Go home. See you."

Then I turned on my heels as fast as possible. It is the only way to make her understand that the matter is closed!

Today I found your answer, Cath, even though I'm not giving it to you.

I hope, my dearest Sara, that wherever you are, you think of me, as I think of you...

* * *

A/N2 : This story was originally written in French, my first language. If my dear compatriots or people who know French are interested in the original version, I'll post it. 


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